


Is it me you're looking for?

by my_thestral



Series: You're Worth It [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-27
Updated: 2019-03-19
Packaged: 2019-09-28 05:36:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 13,310
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17176907
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/my_thestral/pseuds/my_thestral
Summary: Concealed under a feeble charm and waiting for Hugo Weasley at the King's Cross station to complete his final journey from Hogwarts probably wasn't the brightest idea Harry Potter has ever had, and that, in Harry's modest opinion, was saying something given his history of rash, bad choices.Stalked by the press and recently divorced, he could have waited to see Hugh in the privacy of the Weasley home like the rest of Hugo's family, but... but he just couldn't bloody stay away, could he?! He's always had a special relationship with his little - er, no longer so little - favourite, and all those freshly-complicated... inappropriate... unwelcome feelings could go and take a hike for once. Shoo, mean bastards, shoo!Besides, it wasn't like Harry would ever want... oh bloody hell... it wasn't like Harry could ever *hope* to get a chance to act on them, was it? In spite of the divorce, Hugo was still his nephew and a dashing young man with a bright future most definitely wasn't interested in Harry's complicated, inappropriate, unwelcome feelings. Er... right. Right.





	1. All them damn feelings...

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Nia_Kantorka](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nia_Kantorka/gifts).



> Gosh, I'm so out of practice I actually wasn't sure if I could do this posting thing right.  
> So, uhm, after a long while, this is the first chapter of something that's missed all the fests on LiveJournal this year and it has no end in sight as of now, but I was determined to put at least the first chapter of it out this year, and push myself a little further to finish it. You see, I had promised a Hugo/Harry story to my bestie [Nia_Kantorka](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nia_Kantorka) all the way back in February and I'm ashamed to say that I still haven't made good on that promise... until now. Well, not entirely. At least the first chapter is here! Mercy? *hopeful, sheepish grin*  
> Anyway, this story is a background story of my other work ["I lose control..."](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13233447/chapters/30270285/) which is focused on how the relationship between Harry and Hugo came to be. It's set about two years before the story in the first part, just because it makes more sense that way.  
> I don't really expect much interest in this pairing, but Nia asked for it, and darling, I'm ready to deliver. I can't make any promises as to how fast I'll be able to update/finish this one because my life is just a jungle but I'm no quitter and finish I will.  
> It is shamefully unbetaed and as such a lethal peril to all the grammar Nazis out there. Consider yourselves warned!  
> Happy holidays to you all!
> 
> Disclaimer: Harry Potter characters are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No profit is being made, and no copyright infringement is intended.

“Hey, Harry!”

That’s all the warning I get, and one beautiful, rogue smile later, I’m pulled into the arms of my favourite ginger… boy... man...  _ohfuckit_... just make that a person. He’s my favourite person. Of all. Everyone I know.

I breathe him in slowly, cautiously, because last time I was careless about it, expecting nothing but a harmless boyish warmth of my little Hugh, I nearly I got knocked off my feet by the pure poison of the breathtaking… edgy… _oh-so-good_ scent of a young man I barely recognised. It might have left me a bit dazed and soft in the knees, but I came prepared this time! Yeah… like it matters one bit. The second that intoxicating, manly, all-Hugo fragrance finds me in his arms my insides turn into a puddle once again. Merlin, how can I feel so helpless? I’m not supposed to unravel like this with no reason… er, no _good_ reason anyway. Ugh, let’s not go there… like, ever.

I mean, even I can’t, for the love of God, entangle my thoughts and feelings to a point that would make me understand why I feel so strongly about this boy… young man  – Merlin, he’s a young man, when did that happen?! Hugh is my nephew and my best friends’ son and maybe, just maybe, that’s why he melts my heart so? That’s the only explanation I’m comfortable with. Yeah, perhaps I dote upon him so because I see a bit of both my dearest friends in him... Only, Hermione doesn’t make my heart hammer in my chest so madly I can barely breathe, does she  – and Ron doesn’t make me want to bury my head into the warmth of his embrace and just stay there…

It’s all him, my precious Hugh, and though he’s no longer the little tyke I’ve always adored, but all grown up and, uhm, _sevenkindsofstunning_ , he’s still my favourite. So you see, right now I don’t give a rat’s skinny arse as to the “why” and the “how” of it  – I’m just so rabidly, uncontainably happy having him near as if I was wrapped from head to toe in bubbly joy for once. I know it’s embarrassing for an adult man to have immature feelings of a squeeing teenager, but though I’m trying as hard as I can bother not to make a spectacle of myself, I’m not sure I’m doing a really good job of it.

Merlin’s lame dog, has he grown _again_?! He was taller than Ron at the Christmas holidays already but every time I see him, he seems to gain another inch or so. And not only does he smell like a summer dream, he’s also… well, he’s… just incredibly good looking, isn’t he? Even that grudge-holding old hag, Skeeter, referred to him as “shockingly handsome”, it’s not just me! Yeah… another direction I don’t want my softened mind to wander, it might end up god-knows-where…

But it’s so terrifically good to see him! I can’t tell him just _how_ good because that… yeah… but it’s _that_ good. Too good to resist. How can I not allow myself a moment to give into that sweet, intimate closeness we’ve always had? Just holding him, breathing him, inhaling his body-heat and his invisible golden glow makes me feel as close to heaven as I’ve been in a while. I promise myself I won’t let it go on for too long, but God knows I need it. I need to let my madness out for one reckless moment. Jeez, Hugh, _I missed you, I hope you know._

Oh damn, I really need to let go now. This nifty charm I’m using to at least get a tiny bit of privacy won’t last forever and if it slips too soon, I’ll give the public something to chew on. Ever since my divorce from Ginny I’ve been _“secretly married to my Hogwarts sweetheart”_ after having lunch with Hermione, _“heartbroken and drinking the pain away”_ after enjoying a pint with Ron and even _“eloped with a goblin”_ after a prolonged Auror business at the Gringotts.

I wish they’d all bugger off for once and let me have this moment… but I can’t. Not only because it might _definitely_ look wrong to stand on Platform 9 ¾ hugging your own nephew as if your very life depended on it  – but also because _he_ doesn’t know. Hugh doesn’t know how much it means to have him back; he doesn’t know how much he means to me. I can’t put it into words anyway, and it would just be mortifying and make everything awkward, so it’s just as well to keep quiet. It would only confuse him, and put a distance between us. And any distance between me and my Hugh is something I can’t handle. Not right now, not when I just got him back.

Because, you see  – there’s a reason for my drunken elation today: Hugo is done with Hogwarts, the last one of all the Weasley-Potter kids, and I’m not aware of him having any plans to go back. Which means I’ll get to see much more of him than I have during the last seven years… and that’s something my stupid, jumpy heart seems to be celebrating without really asking for a good, solid reason  – or permission, for that matter. I’ve been so very much on edge since the morning – I even fussed about my robes, imagine that! I sounded like a Polyjuiced Malfoy! But it felt every bit as if it was somehow not going to happen, as if something was going to go wrong and my Hugh wasn’t coming… But he’s here now, with his arms around me, and the only excuse I have for my inexplicable, unforgivable clinginess is the fact that he doesn’t seem to be in a hurry to let go of me either.

“My Harry…” he whispers into that blessedly intimate, half-lit space between us, and my knees go soft all over again as if my heart just realised it’s been waiting for those very words all this time. He never called me “uncle”, you know? Not even when he was tiny, and not now, years later; almost as if he’d always wanted something else for us…

Merlin’s hanging balls, I can’t think of that now! It feeds my madness like oil to the fire, and I can’t go there. I need to do the right thing and somehow sell myself the harsh reality that Hugo didn’t mean his words like that. He’s got no notion of how madly my heart just flipped in my chest when he spoke and called me his own  – and I can’t look past the fact that I know very well just how very wrong that is…

God oh God, how I’m going to end up in a world of hurt if I allow myself even a moment of this sweet folly! But it’s all in vain because in my heart of hearts I want to hear those words all too badly, not just once but time and time again, and I want him to mean them the way they sound to me...

I can’t say any of that, obviously, not ever, so I settle for blurting out the one true, desperate thing on my mind:

“I missed you… Don’t go away again.”

Merlin, I sound pathetic. Even my voice is parched! And what I said… I’m an utter fool; I need help! Surely my deranged clinginess is a step too far, surely he will...

But my frantic slippery thoughts are interrupted by an eruption of genuine laughter  – and in case you didn’t know, my Hugh’s warm, carefree laugh is the sort of a golden blessing that could make a grey, rainy day bright, colour the heaven in a rainbow, and have Dementors flying away screaming. It feels like a force of nature in its own right, unstoppable, infectious, and so full of mirth that it’s been a source of joy for me from the first moment I’d heard it.

Once upon a time, it was only a happy giggle of a lithe, feather-light freckled boy with bluest of blue eyes and messy bright-red hair whom I spent hours carrying on my back just because it so very obviously made him happy. There were days in my life when that chime-like, sweet laughter of the warm, trusting little boy in my arms felt like the only real, bright thing worth living for. I could never quite explain why it affected me so and it appeared that its magic hasn’t waned at all over the years. It still melts me on the inside entirely and I’m already smiling goofily like an idiot in response.

“Not going anywhere, am I?” he mumbles with the deep baritone voice he’s grown into. “You’re going to see so much of me that you’re going to want to shoo me away sooner rather than later.”

“Not going to happen…” I declare sulkily, sounding as indignant as I feel. “You’ve got seven years of absence to make up for, and I expect you to start immediately.”

That just makes him laugh once more, and my crazy, foolish heart threatens to break out of my chest that suddenly feels too tight for that much joy and… yeah, you know what the heart is for. But instead of pulling away, like any decent level-headed, middle-aged bloke would, I press even closer into the closeness created by our bodies. I know I’m running on borrowed time, and I’m desperate to inhale the last of him, of that magical, addictive blend that puts all sorts of confusing, savage dreams into my sleep. I need another minute for my skin to absorb that wonderful body-heat I can’t have back anytime soon, and I just want to capture these last moments and commit them to my memory before it all dissolves into a sunny, busy day on an overcrowded station like an empty dream.

“Your word is my command, Auror Potter...” he finally murmurs softly in reply, and for some reason, those words  – and the way he’d said them – send shivers down my spine.

“Hugo! Huuugh! Merlin’s lame Thestral, where is he?! Has anyone seen my son?” a voice booms behind us, startling me… and making my heart sink. It’s all too close and I know it. Merlin… already?

“Long, bright-red hair, taller than I… No? Bloody boy! One would think you’d spot him from the moon, but he’s just vaporised! Again! Bit of his speciality, that… Perhaps someone’s jinxed him and he’s still stuck somewhere on the train  – he wouldn’t be the first one! Malfoy, oy! Come over here, I need you... er, your expert advice!”

“Dad,” Hugo says simply. “He’s being a drama queen again. You might want to remove this wicked charm of yours, Harry. He’s about a minute away from kidnapping Draco Malfoy and making him confess he has me body-bound on the Hogwarts Express.”

And I just sigh in resignation. Clearly, my priceless little moment of privacy with Hugh has expired. Dammit, Ron! I love my best friend to bits, but couldn’t he have been delayed for once?! His bloody car doesn’t work half of the time  – but today, when I could have used a moment longer…

“Want me to drop by at Grimmauld’s later?”

The unexpected question knocks the air out of me and simultaneously fills me with mad, pointless hope. I covertly glance at Hugh eagerly and anxiously, wondering what I will see and hoping it won’t be pity. God, I hope I wasn’t quite that obvious; I’m feeling pathetic enough as it is! But his stunning blue eyes are as deep and as intriguing as ever, and I, with all my years of Auror experience, can’t tell what’s hiding behind that sweet, subtle smile in the corner of that tempting... that... _ohGod_... soft mouth.

“Sure,” I choke out, but I’m instantly worried that I didn’t sound welcoming enough, so I promptly barge into a frantic, barely-discernible garbage of half-baked arguments to tell him that I truly, honestly – _Merlinpleaseyes_! – want him to come over:

“I hoped you would! I mean, we’ve got so much catching up to do! I haven’t seen you in half a year! And want to hear all about your career plans! I’ll make pancakes! You still like pancakes, right?”

Oh, Merlin’s favourite thestral, someone’s please shove a foot up my gob; I can’t possibly sound more desperate! Why the hell am I waving pancakes under his nose like they’re some kind of irresistible drug?! Molly will feed him with her delicacies within an inch of his life as soon as he shows up at the Burrow, how the hell could I hope for a pathetic batch of Nutella-pancakes to possibly tip the scale in my favour?! There’s no doubt that as soon as he’s out of my sight he’ll think of a more satisfactory way to spend the evening than to hang out with his needy fossil of an Uncle!

“Nutella pancakes?”

Am I wrong or does he sound hopeful?

“Yes!” I say hastily, trying very hard not to sound too much like I’m begging. “But only if you want! We don’t have to do it tonight if you’ve got things set up already! We could always do it another day! You must be tired! And if you _do_ have prior arrangements…”

“Harry!” he cuts through my blathering with a single word as if he knows I need to be brought to my senses. And then casually, as if it was the most normal thing in the world, he takes my hand between his big, warm palms, and looks me straight in the eye as if he wants to make sure there will be no misunderstandings:

“There’s nowhere I’d rather be,” he says simply. “And no one I’d rather be with. I asked, didn’t I?”

Yes. So he did. Yes, Merlin, he did. Godric's silken pants, I’m truly a moron. But I kind of don’t mind being one at the moment, I think... When he’s looking at me like this, I feel myself drowning in the mesmerising blue pools of his eyes until I don’t know  – don’t care – which way is up, and my imagination just goes… wild and rampant. It runs off to forbidden places, and for a second there, I dare imagine that Hugo, my clever, brilliant Hugh, knows my secret. And the thought just electrifies me… every bit of me, even the parts… oh God.

The implications of ever going _there,_ in that unthinkable, _wrongwrongwrong_ direction are… unimaginable. I’d risk to lose everything, alienate everyone, for a mere chance of something that probably only lives in my half-mad fantasy. _But it might be worth it_ , a little voice I haven’t listened to in years whispers at the back of my mind. _He would be worth it._

Merlin, I need to banish these devastating thoughts somehow...

“So, I’ll see you in the evening?” I ask in a stiff voice, and I even clear my throat to shake off the trace of all those embarrassing feelings I’m drowning in.

And then he does the unimaginable. He leans down quickly without a shred of a warning, and gently, quickly presses a tiny… monumental… kiss on my cheek, gently brushing against the corner of my mouth. And the world tumbles off its axis. I don’t even… I don’t think I can breathe.

“Oh yeah, I’ll be there,” he says quietly. “Nutella pancakes or not,” he adds playfully, but a swift sparkle flickers at the bottom of his enchanting eyes that has an edge... a warning… a challenge…Seriously, I don’t know what the fuck this was, but he might as well have run his long playful fingers across the pulsing bulge pressing heavy and needy against the confines of my trousers and have the same effect.

Yes… yes, I’m hard. I’m fucking solid, goddammit! When the hell did that happen?! I can’t have him notice that! Oh hell’s glory, that’s just… beyond embarrassing. It’s all that bloody confusion and frustration… I think. That has got to be it. I completely missed the signs, the idiot that I am, but the slow heat must have been crawling up my cock for some time now to get me in such a state. Mother of Jesus…

“See you in the evening, Harry,” Hugo smiles one of his sweet, intriguing smiles into my flabbergasted face, and in the next second his arms around me dissolve, and he’s just… gone. As if in a haze I’m watching him walk towards Ron, catching him off-guard by casually throwing his arm around his shoulders  – and another one across Malfoy’s shoulders, startling the skinny bastard out of his skin – and I’m still standing there, under my silly charm, trying to cling to _any one thing_ that would put my shaken, wobbly world back on its hinges.

_What.Just.Happened?!_ I mean… it was so brief it feels unreal… did it really happen?! Well, of course it happened but… but it was barely a peck… yet… Hugo… he kissed me. Hugo, my favourite… person… man, kissed me in broad daylight, with nothing but a thin veil of my rapidly disappearing charm between us and the rest of the world, and I… I’m all in pieces now.

It’s meant to be wrong, to feel wrong  – only it doesn’t, not one bit. The swirling, urgent feeling rising like a tide has nothing to do with shame, or regret, on the contrary… It’s a different sort of beast. I recognise it instantly for the monster it is: it’s a gut-wrenching yearning of the most hopeless sort. A special sort of hunger for more is rising inside me like a violent, acerbic tide, burning everything in its path and I... I cannot _not_ want this. Merlin, what have I done to myself?!

I know I’ve got to be reading too much into this... or something. Yeah, there’s no other rational explanation for what just happened. Hugh is my _nephew_ , for fuck’s sake  – and right now I’m repeating that word to myself like a mantra, as if it is somehow going to protect me from my own maddening, roaring desire. _Nephew. Nephew. Hugh is my nephew. That’s all he is._ He’s a goddamn Weasley; they’re nothing if not affectionate. He couldn’t have known how stupidly, wrongly I was going to interpret his innocent gesture. It was just a peck… just a simple, sweet, affectionate peck on the cheek of his favourite uncle; he couldn’t have known what devastation it would cause inside me.

But careless or not, Hugo’s kiss  – the tiny, insignificant peck on the cheek, Potter, you fool, don’t delude yourself!  – has miraculously melted the insulation of persistent lies I’ve been telling myself. What I feel for Hugo  – those are no feelings one has for nephew… and I wonder if they ever were. I should know, I’ve got nephews galore. I mean, Bill’s son’s got Veela blood, for hell’s sake! It would make sense if being around Louis would affect me! But he doesn’t. It’s only ever been my Hugh. From the moment Ron put the warm little creature with a funny tuft of soft bright hair into my lap and I looked into those heaven-blue eyes… Yeah, from that very first moment on.

But fuck me if I know when the innocent, sweet, gentle affection I always felt for Ron’s youngest, morphed into this roaring, possessive, selfish... monster of _wantneedlove_ , I feel surging in my veins, leaving nothing but utter havoc in its path. How… when… why  – and for fuck’s sake, _why him_?! That I don’t know. And I don’t want to think about it now, I’m sure I’ll lose sleepless nights galore over it. I’ve got more pressing matters at hand. I, the fool, have invited Hugh over. How am I ever going to contain this… these _feelings_?! How do I protect him from myself?! Shall I cancel? Tell him to bring Ron along? Lie about the emergency at work? No, no and no! There would be questions, and more lies, and pointless hurt… Merlin, there’s got to be a way!

“Potter! Oh, that's certainly unexpected! I was wondering…”

Fuck. What a moment for my charm to fade. Bloody Skeeter must have been lurking around all along. I can’t really be bothered to be civil, not now; not with this bloody… chaos in my head, I might blurt out God-knows-what folly.

“Yeah, I was actually just leaving,” I mumble hastily. “Just came to say hello to my H… to the family but I’m honestly very much in a hurry. Business calls, you know how it is... “ I blurt out all in one breath and Disapparate before she could object. It is a testimony of how distracted I am when I land in the giant abandoned bedroom somewhere inside 12 Grimmauld Place  – at least I got it halfway right – and I collapse into the nearest armchair, releasing a puff of dust into the thick, stale air. What the hell am I going to do? What the hell _can_ I do?! I know exactly what _not_ to do… but it only takes one look at the pulsing hardness in my lap, begging for my attention, to realise how hopelessly weak and raving mad I am. Mad about him. About my Hugh.

God help me… Just the memory of that spicey, warm intoxicating scent of his skin… of the strong arms pulling me closer and then closing around me possessively… or that inviting, teasing, playful laughter… Before I know it my hand is feverishly getting rid of every bit of fabric in the way of my cock and I find myself wanking so needily, so furiously, I might just hurt myself before I’m done… Oh fuck. _Ohbloodyhell…_ It’s been a while and I know I’m being too rough with myself, but this is urgent... it’s fucking urgent and I can’t stop… I can’t stop… I can’t stop thinking of him, and I can’t stop dreaming and lusting and wanting and fucking my fist because that’s all I’ve got...

"Hugh!! _Ohbloodyhell_... Hugh..."

It feels like something tore from the bottom of my balls and I did hurt myself after all. I hurt myself because I cried his name out in the open for the very first time, and now I’m all broken... and so bloody boneless, empty-headed and desperate... and trying not to choke on my tears too loudly, because the emptiness of the sodding gloomy room just can’t take it and neither can my sodding gloomy life.

I still don’t know what to do. But I can’t run from Hugh. I don’t know where to... and my heart won’t go.

~


	2. Hope springs eternal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hugo Weasley knows what he wants. He's only ever wanted one thing. Harry. And finally Harry gave him the one thing he still needed to make his move: hope.

_ Good God, fucking  _ finally _! I thought this bloody year would never end! I would have ran back home halfway through if it wasn’t for Mum and her silly, transparent  _ “You better not try to beat my N.E.W.T. record, young man!”  _ challenge  – and the small, bothersome fact that I would have no excuse to drop out of Hogwarts in my last year. No  _ legitimate  _ excuse anyway... and I can’t speak of the  _ true  _ reason why I so desperately wanted to be back home with anyone. No one can know. _

_ But... it’s hope. Hope he gave me. My Harry did.  _

_ Not consciously, no; he’d never do that. But the way he looked at me when I returned home for the Christmas holiday  – the proper shock at the sight of me after I’d undergone one of those ridiculous growing spurts, the long-awaited recognition that his little Hugh was no more, the way he finally melted into me anyway and shakily breathed me in as if this new, grown-up Hugo made him a bit careless  – yeah, that gave me hope. A whole damn, inexhaustible batch of it. When I never thought I’d have any. _

_ You see, I’ve been bonkers about my Harry since I could say his name. But it wasn’t until I hit the teens that the heavy heat pooling at the bottom of my belly at the sight of him finally gave purpose to all the love I feel for him. For my Harry.  _

_ I’ve always called him that in my mind: My Harry.  _ Mine. _ And sometimes when I’m not careful enough, I let it slip out. But until that magical day at the chilly station, with the Hogwarts express still heaving heavily behind my back, and his warm arms around me, I always had to remind myself, gritted teeth and all, that I needed to do better. Until that day I was convinced he’d never have me. Righteous as he was, he’d be horrified if he ever found out that I wanted more. So much more.  _

_ But Merlin help me - how could I not?! There never was anyone but him for me. The very scent of him could make me unravel. You’d have to be close to Harry to understand. He’s got that subtle, clean fragrance about him as if his sweet, warm heart somehow emanated through his skin. It just melts me on the inside and I want it to be a part of me. I hate being away from him.  _

_ Hogwarts was hard for me. Not academically, no  – I’ve got Mum’s record beaten by one solid N.E.W.T. in the end  – but because I had to stay away from Harry so bloody long. Every single day I went to sleep thinking of him, if he’d made it home safely, and if he’d perhaps fallen asleep on the sofa in front of the fireplace after an exhausting day  – a thought that always made me smile. And once my Weasley heritage showed its teeth and my teenage hormones went rampant, my nights were always filled to the brim with so many wild, untamed, shameless fantasies of him that would surely knock the breath out of the shy man Harry was, spread that adorable flush across his cheeks and light the furious green fire in his eyes if he ever got a glimpse of them. And I woke up thinking of him, of where he was, and if by chance, I’d get to see him, if that would be the day when he’d unexpectedly fire-call, or maybe he’d write... A boy could dream. Especially when those sweet, empty dreams were all I had.  _

_ And until that day at the station, I thought he could never know.  _

_ I’d thought he’d only always see me as a nephew  – perhaps his favourite one, but still… And even on the smallest, most humble chance that my desperate, crushing love would somehow break out of my chest and he’d come to realise just how  _ stupidly, irreversibly, hopelessly _ I was in love with him –  he’d never pick me.  _

_ You see, my Harry’s not like me. I’m a proper Slytherin  – the only Weasley ever to be sorted in that cool, ambitious house, much to the horror of my poor dad  – and we don’t let the morals and other rubbish stand in the way of what we want. I’d always known I’d tear my entire world to bits for him without missing a beat; I’d throw it all to the dogs and never look back. But him…  _

_ He’s the best there is. They don’t come better than my Harry. He’s so very caring and selfless… so very… Harry. He’d never risk losing his family  – the one thing he clung onto with desperation of a child who never knew a loving one. He’d never hurt anyone if that was the price he’d have to pay to be happy. My Harry didn’t think he deserved happiness much anyway. He’d never do something that wasn’t right. And I… I’d never be right. Not in his eyes. Or so I’d thought. _

_ But that day at the station… There was something unguarded in the way he’d closed his arms around me, something… needy, almost ruthless in his tight embrace, as if the Harry he wanted to be disappeared for a moment and there was this Harry who’d missed me, needed me, and wanted to hold me with the same sort of uncompromising, breathless urge I wanted to hold him and never let go.  _

_ He had positively made my head spin. I mean it. I barely knew which side was up. And the way he’d held me, quietly, immovably, as if he needed to ground himself, had made my heart soar to impossible heights. And for the first time in my life, I came close to overcoming my fear of losing Harry entirely, and began day-dreaming about just… giving it my best shot… you know, taking all my chances, whatever they were.  _

_ Did I stand a snowflake’s chance in hell? What if I put it all on the line for him? I’d have to play every card in my hand –  the special bond that we’d always had, the fact that he’d very obviously missed me the way I’d missed him, this sudden, unexpected, minuscule crack in the armour of his selflessness, righteousness, and composure  – everything. I’d put all of myself out there for him, that went without saying, but would it be enough? Because there would be so much at stake.  _

_ I would risk tainting our past, the wonderful, innocent memories of all the time we’d spent together. I’d risk alienating him if I pour out my heart to him and he couldn’t take it. I’d risk every single future moment of unbound joy of being around him, if only as his favourite nephew. I’d risk making every encounter with the most important person in my life into something awkward and tormenting if this goes wrong. And there would be so many ways of it going wrong. Too many. I’m not a reckless Gryffindor and losing Harry would be… unthinkable. _

_ But in the end, it was once again something that Harry did that made the call for me. The shy, stubborn spark of hope, born that day on the station, was blown up into a proper Fiendfyre when we got news of his divorce.  _

_ ‘Oh, hell…’ Lily sighed and nearly crumpled the note delivered by Hermes, Harry’s snowy owl. ‘Finally.’ _

_ And while I just stood there, feeling dumbfounded and completely breathless, she just shrugged matter-of-factly. ‘You know as well as I do that they’ve been miserable for ages, Hugh. The only thing that actually comes as a surprise is that Dad is behind it, he always seemed so hell-bent on keeping the family together. But I guess something must have pushed him over the line…’ And then she looked at me sideways with those clever brown eyes and mumbled: ‘... or someone.’ _

_ I… Well, I’m usually as eloquent as they come  – you can barely shut me up, yeah? – but that one time the words just failed me. I swear the mad pounding of my heart could have been made into a punk rock beat:  _ Harry was a free man. My Harry was a free man. What the hell just happened?!

_ Well,  _ hope  _ happened. And I knew at that moment as I know now that I  _ had  _ to do this. I had to try.  _

_ As far as I was concerned, the Universe was sending me a message: take your bloody chances, Hugh, it’s now or never. As good as it gets for you.  _

_ My odds are still terrible. I’m seventeen years old and in love with Harry Potter. It even sounds mad and impossible. Besides that, I’m still his nephew, I have no idea if there’s already someone else  – if he’s even into men! – and he’s still Harry: the man who always wants to do the right thing. And I don’t have a plan; not really. Actually, I’ve got about a thousand… but knowing myself, I’ll end up playing this by the ear.  _

_ But I have to at least try. I’d beat myself bloody over the years, knowing that I never gave it a shot; I’d be heartbroken if he found someone else and I’d never get my chance to say what I’ve been keeping to myself for as long as I’ve lived in the heartwarming presence of this wonderful man:  _ I love you, Harry. Please let me show you, how much. Let me be the one for you. 

_ I gave it a little push today, inviting myself over, and to see that emerald, happy glimmer in his eyes when he hastily offered to make me pancakes  – I had to stop myself from jumping him here and there. That tiny, little, treacherous kiss just flew out of me, surprising us both… but I guess it couldn’t be stopped. I told you, sometimes my own heart betrays me and there’s nothing I can do.  _

_ Yeah… I can’t live without my Harry  – and I won’t. Harry and your pancakes  – I’m coming to get you. And I want it all.  _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it's a tiny update, but I've been home with both kids and the poor ol' Dobby me was fully occupied with two obnoxious, bossy brats. :) I hope it's not too disappointing, I intend to move the story along in the next chapter, but I just wanted to put in a bit of Hugo's perspective.


	3. Of pancakes and showers

It’s probably just as well that I forgot to ask Hugh when he was going to come around because it would make me glance at the clock nervously every five minutes  – but not having asked left me a different sort of a wreck. What if he changed his mind? What if something came up and he couldn’t make it? Would he even remember to let me know in all the fuss around his arrival? 

_ It would probably be for the best if he cancelled, you fool, _ I try to instill some reason into the mess that I’ve become –  but it’s a lost cause from the get-go because there’s no rational cure for my folly. The sun is slowly setting for the day, and with every passing moment, I’m more acutely aware of how much I really want him to come. I  _ need  _ him to come. I’m so very desperate to see him again. Talk about pathetic. 

I try to occupy myself by shifting pots and pans in the outdated kitchen of 12 Gimmauls Place and checking on ingredients for the pancakes - for about a hundredth time in the last ten minutes - but my mind keeps rolling around in circles and coming back to the fact that it was going to be evening soon and he still wasn't here.

I need to get it into this silly head of mine that he’s no longer a boy who loved nothing better than spending his days with his uncle. He’s all but a man now, legally adult in this world of ours, and  _ of course,  _ I’m no longer going to be on the top of his list of priorities. It’s just a matter of time before he takes up a career that’s going to lead him away from me. I  _ know  _ all that, all right?!  – but I still need to see him… I need to be around him for a little longer before that part of my life is irreversibly over and what little light there was in my life will fade. Soon, I’ll be left with nothing but bittersweet memories for company. Soon, there won’t be anything left to go back to. Perhaps this is why I’m so desperate to make some new memories. My time…  _ our  _ time is running out. 

Strangely enough, it doesn’t make me feel melancholic, just uncommonly restless and agitated, as if I’m not entirely ready to give up on myself, my stupid fucked-up life leading me away from Hugh on the path I’ve so recklessly taken. I could have been with all of them at the Burrow tonight. I could have still fit in  – pretended at least – but… I couldn’t. I’d wrapped my arms around my Hugh one too many times. 

That one time before Christmas at the King’s Cross… Strange, how all the important things in my life always take place right there, at that station, isn’t it? It was just a hug…  _ perhaps  _ it was just a hug... but it felt like so much more. 

The sudden, electrifying shock at the sight of the grown-up, beautiful, magnificent man he had turned out to be, the heady rush of magic when my arms closed around him on their own, before I could think straight… And then the unstoppable flood of joy and exhilaration that hit me unprepared when I breathed in all that familiar warmth, that spellbinding magic of the inexplicable affection we’ve always felt for each other. I let it pull me in and I let it poison my senses like the fool I was and… yeah,  _ that _ . I couldn’t go back to anything that fell short of that. 

I wish I could make myself sound heroic and say that I found the strength to talk to Ginny that very night, but the fact is that there was no particular strength of character involved: I blurted out that I could no longer stay married to her at the first sight of her, and finally, after twenty-some years of marriage, I managed to shock her into silence. Believe me,  _ that  _ was a first. But my improvised ambush worked better than I expected. You see, much to my surprise she seemed to agree with me: it was time to wrap up things and end our marriage. With me working all the time, her on the road almost as much, and the kids no longer around there was little point in putting up the pretence. We both cried a little, we were both relieved  _ a lot _ , and I never felt like a bigger failure in my life. 

But I couldn’t be a failure and a liar. I couldn’t cheat on her... and I could no longer stay with her. I was finally ready to admit to myself that she could never have the best of me. Not now. Not anymore. Perhaps… not ever. I suppose I couldn’t really put into words what the best of me was but it sure as hell came out when I was around Hugo. Since forever. I’m all smiles and joy around him. I am. Ask anyone. Always have been. All right, it’s perhaps a little… all right,  _ a lot  _ more intense now  – and Merlin, it’s complicated!  – but I can’t help to think that when it comes to Hugo and I, there was always a wisp of some old, powerful magic involved, you know?

Since the first time Ron had put his baby boy into my arms, I was captivated. The birth had been exhausting for both, Hermione and the baby, and the little boy was wrinkled, a bit bruised and had a wild tuft of bright ginger, feather-soft hair sticking out of the round head. I can’t say he was a particularly beautiful baby; certainly not like my Albus who looked like a little angel from the moment he was born. But from the very first moment, Hugo just… oh, I suppose he took my breath away. 

I’d had all of my children by that point; three of the loveliest little scoundrels that I loved every bit like a once-neglected, orphaned child, who never wished for anything other than having someone to love. So it wasn’t like I didn’t  _ know  _ and cherish the feeling of a new baby in my arms. It wasn’t new, it wasn’t supposed to be anything special. Yet, with Hugo… it was shockingly out of the ordinary. 

I’d never seen eyes so heavenly-blue in my life and I… Oh, I suppose I might have been a bit awe-struck. He had the most amazing eyes, still does. As I stared into the expanse of those deep-blue pools that seemed to glitter as if they had captured the moonlight, I was overcome by the strangest feeling of calm… I can’t explain. It was as if I’d finally found what I’ve been looking for so long. And when the little fingers closed around mine like the little boy chose me, the magic was complete and spell-binding. The connection I felt to the soft, warm creature in my lap was instant, overwhelming and it sucked me in, as if nothing outside of our little union mattered anymore. I’d lost myself completely. I don’t think I’ve ever felt something quite as magical like that before. 

‘Merlin, he  _ likes _ you, Harry,’ Ron commented, sounding surprised, but then his face stretched into a knowing smile and he added quietly: ‘He  _ really _ likes you. Of course, he does.’

And I couldn’t really bring myself to say much. I remember just nodding with a knot in my throat and admiring the little treasure in my hands, wondering what on Merlin’s golden earth was that warm, heavy thing in his chest that made me feel like crying. I should have known that this quiet, savage bond would follow its own set of rules. Magical bonds like this don’t come without a price. 

I was lucky. At least up until now, I was. The unspoken connection Hugo and I shared was carefree, sweet, and as pure and innocent as they came  – yet it could not be denied and it didn’t go unnoticed. 

‘Blimey, you two are a love story to be reckoned with,” Ron had joked good-naturedly one evening when my little treasure once again fell asleep in my lap with his arms around my neck, and I didn’t really feel like surrendering him to his bed just yet. He’d said it without malice, with laughter in his voice, yet it stuck with me all these years. I still remember with clarity that it made blood rush to my cheeks and my heart beat faster.

‘Shut up, you twat,” I had mumbled, but it felt real as if something got recognised that I never bothered to give a name to before. Yeah, even back then my love for Hugo felt real... but it never felt like something I needed to hide. I meant it when I said it was innocent. But this thing… this mad, urgent, overwhelming  _ need that  _ burst to life from the moment I lay my eyes on this grown-up, striking Hugh…  _ that  _ was something entirely different. 

The monster that it was, it brought along a wild horde of desires that I can’t even… They take my mind places... wonderful, scary places that make my blood race and make me feel hot and bothered every bloody time I'm foolish enough to indulge myself. And it brought all those damn… uncontrollable…  _ ohGodwrong  _ dreams that make me wake up panting and just... ready to blow. And worst of all, it lit up that slow-burning flame of yearning that should have no place dwelling in this old man’s chest, yet it makes my heart beat with twice the speed if I merely think of him. My Hugh… he really did put a spell on me.

“Missed me?” a voice breathes softly in my ear and I nearly jump to the ceiling. I turn around frantically, incredulous, and he’s here, leaning casually on the door-frame behind me, with that beautiful sparkle in his eye and a devilish grin on his face. He’s really here, just like he promised. But how can he be? When did he arrive?! Magical comings-and-goings make a lot of noise, I’ll have you know! How could I have missed it?! 

Oh, Merlin, but he takes my breath away. He looks every bit as if he just stepped out of my wishful day-dreaming… he’s just... mouth-watering. That tall muscled frame testifying of his love for all things Quidditch, the vibrant, silken fiery hair tied in a loose pony-tail, and those eyes... I swallow. I only caught a wisp of his warm so-very-Hugo musk before he moved away, and it’s already making it hard for me to come up with words… any words. I just stare, drink him in and drool like a half-drunken fool.  

“Sorry if I startled you,” he says matter-of-factly, still sporting that leisurely, unapologetic smile. “I Apparated to the living room but you weren’t there, so I figured you’d be in the kitchen. Busy with the pancakes already?”

“Yes! I mean  – no. You haven’t told me  _ when  _ you were coming,” I babble emptily, hoping against hope to distract him enough not to notice that the sight of him melted most of my brain right out of my skull. “But it’s all right, really. I’ll start now. They’ll be nice and fresh, and…”

A small frown appears between his strong brows and he suddenly looks concerned. Then he bites his lip as if he was unsure about something and I… I’m… I think my brain has imploded. Does he have  _ any  _ idea how sexy that is?! The flash of white teeth against that tender pink flesh… oh, great. I turn away hastily, horrified at the, uhm, _embarrassing_ state of me, and right now I probably look like a pervert, ready to fuck the unsuspecting stove into the ground.

“Are you sure it’s all right that I’m here, Harry?” he says quietly, but firmly. “You seem a little distracted. I practically invited myself, I know, so if you’ve got other plans, you need to let me know. I could always…”

“No! Don’t leave! Please, Hugh... don’t leave.”

I forget the bloody shaft that's trying to say to hello to its idol, and I turn around like the pervert old fool that I am.  There’s serious panic in my voice now and I’m trying my hardest to tone it down not to freak him out and make him run from the clingy misery I've turned into.  _ ‘He doesn’t know,’ _ my brain is screaming at me frantically.  _ ‘Hugo doesn’t know how much you need those few hours with him, you idiot, get a grip on yourself. You’ll drive him away!’ _

“I’m just… tired. It’s been a long day... month, even, and I… please don’t go,” I choke out, appalled by the pleading tone of my voice. “You’re always welcome. I missed you. You’re… you’re my favourite…”

I almost make it. I do. I almost say the word  _ nephew _ ; I come so close to rationalising it and making Hugo’s visit feel, well, right and proper… only I don’t, do I? As soon as the word “favourite” comes out of my mouth, Hugo shoots me that beautiful, brilliant smile that somehow makes my heart jump to my throat, and I… well, I forget the rest. Whatever words my befuddled mind was about to produce, they all drown in the familiar feeling of breathless bliss fluttering like a trapped butterfly in my chest. The narrow lining of guilt around the blossoming sensation is disappearing too quickly to mention. No words come out after a crushing defeat like that. I told Hugo he was my favourite and that’s the God’s honest truth. Merlin, I’m pathetic.

But as it turns out, that killer smile was just the beginning of my demise. Those long, muscled legs move and my eyes float towards them like the enchanted moths towards the worshipped flame. Good God, he’s gorgeous. And no, it’s not just me. Half of the nation has been drooling over him ever since he appeared as  _ Most Likely To Be Recruited _ in a heart-stopping, very revealing Quidditch Teen Fever centrefold. I’ve got that bloody picture memorised, burned into my brain, actually, and it pops up… at most inconvenient times. But I don’t need it to know that he’s to die for. He’s what the dreams are made of... and he’s standing right in front of me. 

So of course I go, and I make a blithering mistake: I breathe him in. I inhale that mind-melting poison of his scent once, perhaps twice – because once I started I couldn’t bloody help myself, all right?! – and I let my lungs fill with the unmistakable summer fragrance of that warm skin until my chest aches. And it’s all I can do not to whimper.

That god-forsaken, rich, irresistible smell of all things Hugo instantly makes my knees rattle. My heart has been busy doing the insane flip-flops ever since he’d arrived but now it’s racing as if I was drugged and I’m completely rendered speechless by simply feeling  _ so much _ . A raving mad desire to lean in and allow myself to disappear into the warmth of that tempting closeness that is all Hugo is so bloody overwhelming I can feel my skin crawl with the maddening sensation.

I hopelessly try to think of something else –  _ anything _ would do – but my efforts are instantly sabotaged in the most savage way possible. His warm hands close around my shoulders, and it’s probably a good thing because I’m not sure for how much longer I can stand up straight. 

“Don’t be silly, Harry,” he says softly. “Why would I want to leave? You know I couldn’t wait to be here. I love my family, but there’s just so many of them and they always manage to overwhelm me. But here, with you, it’s just right.” 

And then he does the unspeakable again: he leans forward, and presses a small, soft, lingering kiss onto my cheek, right next to my ear.

“You always make it so good for me, Harry,” he murmurs in that low, husky voice of his… and I  _ can’t.bloody.breathe _ … I just close my eyes and see fucking stars.

The single moment of warm breath hovering over my skin raises goosebumps all over my body, and the brush of silken, fiery locks against my cheek calls me closer like a siren. The sudden, violent urge to just...  _ offer _ myself, and come what may, nearly overwhelms me.  _ “Please, Hugh,'  _ is just at the tip of my entranced tongue, even though I barely know what I’m ready to beg for.

_ ‘Ohbloodyhell, get ahold of yourself, you fool…’ _ the one rational thought still flutters in panic somewhere at the back of my fried brain but its voice is slowly disappearing into the distance. Having Hugo so close is simply… bone-melting… perfect. God, yes. To the point of terrifying.  _ Wrong. Wrong. Wrong. _ My overloaded brain pulses like one of those emergency lights at the space vessels… but it doesn’t feel wrong. It feels like heaven. The sweet ache in my chest is not going anywhere. It’s growing like a hungry, mean plague, obliterating everything in its path. This isn’t… it  _ cannot  _ be wrong. It feels as right as it could be. So bloody right. With him. With Hugo.

I nearly breathe his name, and that would have been the last nail in the coffin of my decency, but he saves me from myself when the grip of his warm hands around my shoulders suddenly disappears.  _ Fuck.  _ I mean… thank fuck. This was… too close. I can’t let this happen again. I force my eyes open and it feels like an eon has passed since I last looked at the world. And sure enough, a very different reality meets me. Everything is the way it was… only it isn’t. 

I’m still in my slightly outdated kitchen at 12 Grimmauld Place but it has Hugo in it now, juggling his balance on the back legs of one of the kitchen chairs playfully, stretching those endless muscled legs in front of him in the casually perfect way that nearly makes my eyes fall out, and I barely manage to swallow a stifled whimper. But he’s smiling softly, those mesmerising blue eyes alight with mirth and a quiet sort of challenge, and everything feels more…  _ vibrant _ . Saturated. Alive. I can’t help but return his sweet, achingly beautiful smile. My heart is busy doing that familiar flutter-melt thing I only associate with Hugo and I briefly wonder how smitten I look. But then I no longer care. 

The drunken, giddy feeling of elation and joy is rapidly spreading from my chest like a golden tide and I already know I can do fuck all to fight it. No one else can make me feel that way simply by showing up. No one. No fucking one person. How the hell am I supposed to fight a feeling like that?! It feels so precious it makes me think it’s got to be some mistake: this can’t be meant for me, I’m not fit to bear it… I never thought I deserved to feel this happy. But now I am. 

So I do what I never thought I would do: I take a big, shaky breath... and take it. Giving in into the dazzling sensation makes my senses feel as if they’re simmering under a slow fire, and the unfamiliar, glorious feeling of happiness spreads down my body like sweet liquid honey, making everything it devours sparkle with its precious golden hue. I’m with my favourite person and the world has fireworks going off at the edges.

I bet some of my bliss must be showing because he smiles tenderly, enigmatically once again and says quietly:

“Take your time, Harry. I don’t mind just sitting here, watching you. I had just enough food at Grandma Molly’s not to starve. Besides, I’ve got to learn that wicked recipe sometime, don’t I?”

“Yeah, I…” I stammer, and I immediately drop the pancake pan because my fingers seem to be made of butter. Fuck me if I know how am I supposed to survive this, with him sitting quietly behind my back, when all I can think is how badly I want to _ just.fucking.jump _ him.  _ Merlin, Potter... you randy dumb fossil... _

He chuckles softly behind my back and then I hear the front legs of the chair hit the floor. Great, now I’ve made him run…

“You know what, I’ve changed my mind,” he says tactfully and I’m pathetically thankful that I can’t seem to find any stifled laughter in his voice. I should’ve known that it was too good to last. 

“Can I use your shower?” he asks innocently and the poor unsuspecting egg I was supposed to crack in the bowl hits the floor instead. Excuse me if I nearly just fainted a little. 

_ Ohbloodyfuckinghell…  _ Thanks, Universe. My pancakes are already turning to be a  _ smashing  _ hit with a pinch of naked-Hugo fantasies on the side. 

“Uhm…” _ Yeah, smooth, Potter, real smooth. Go on, tell your nephew he can’t use a shower in your house, you idiot. Tell him why, while you’re at it.  _ God, I’m a dolt.

“I’ll be real quick. And I promise to clean up after myself,” he says sweetly, enticingly, as if  _ actually  _ needed bribing. “It’s just that I’ve had a long ride, not a minute to myself since I’ve arrived and I don’t want to smell like a week old grave next to those delicious pancakes.”

“You don’t…” Oh, hell… I can’t exactly tell him that he smells like bloody aphrodisiac to me, can I?

“Sure,” I finally find my tongue and the only possible answer, all the while quietly praying that I don’t sound quite as unravelled as I feel. “You’re welcome to help yourself to anything that’s in there,” I say stiffly while I’m frantically trying to remember if I’ve stocked up on my toiletries or the half-empty, embarrassingly pink Unicorn-shaped bottle labeled “Starlight Elixir” that Luna gave me last Christmas was the only thing on the shelf. Kill me. Kill me now. World, I present you Harry Potter, the hero of all the proverbial bachelor slobs. 

“Brilliant,” he says, sounding pleased, and in the next moment the warm fingers brush against my spine when he passes me by and a spark flies all the way down to my toes. 

“I won’t be a minute,” he says, disappearing into the bathroom.

Damn you, Hugo Weasley. I think I just forgot my recipe for the pancakes. That, and I can’t seem to remember which way is up either.

– 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Er... yeah, I never said the progress will be fast. It's somewhat slow and if it's too bloody boring, I apologise, I have to take things at my own pace, or I'd make even more of a mess of it than it already is. :P But! I'm ready to post the next one that goes with this chapter, because then I have to take a short break and see if I can get a short Ron/Draco written for the upcoming fest. The next update might be a bit delayed, sorry about that.


	4. Slow and full-throttle

_Slow. I need to take it slow or he’ll freak out. That’s what Dad told me when I poured my heart out to him._

_You see… I might not have been entirely honest with Harry. I might have omitted a little part of having a minor, er... crisis before coming here. My less-than-stable mental state resulted in fidgeting through Grandma Molly’s dinner, barely eating anything, and then upon a whim, dragging my dad to the Grandpa’s old shed and proceeding to have a proper nervous breakdown there, tears, and sobbing and the whole shebang. Oh, fuck off, I’m seventeen, I’m totally allowed to be hysterical._

_It’s just… so much is at stake and no one knows Harry better than my dad... This quest for Harry’s heart… it’s so bloody impossible and I knew that Dad… Dad would tell me if it was. Or if there was a chance, even the tiniest chance, he’d tell me that, too. I love my old man to bits. He was there for us when Mum wasn’t, he threw his promising career as an Auror to the dogs for a chance to raise Rosie and I  – and he gives the best pep talks in the country. And that was what I was really after. I didn’t mean to scare the poor man out of his wits with my bawling, I swear I didn’t._

_But when we safely determined that no one was dying and this whole drama was because I had fallen for uhm, unspecified_ male _subject –  that particular information sort of made his jaw drop for a bit though he tried really hard not to be too obvious  – and that the said male subject might not be entirely open to my advances, he picked up on where this was going faster than a bloodhound._

 _‘Well, I’m not going to push you to tell me who you’re after since you obviously think it’s_ some big secret _,’ he rolled his eyes while throwing his hands up in the air  – which was basically his way of saying ‘Son, you’re being stupid.’_

_But then his face softened and he cleaned up my tear-streaked face with his thumbs, clearly trying to find the right words._

_‘But surely you must know you can have anyone you want if you put your mind and your heart to it, Hugh,’ he finally mumbled. ‘You’ve always been that way: you set up a goal for yourself and woe betide the fool who dared stand in your way. Can’t see why you would change now,’ he smiled encouragingly. So I just went on and hugged him fiercely because no one hugs my dad much these days and that was the one way I could let him know how splendid I thought he was. I might have sobbed a little more after that._

_‘Shhhh. Don’t cry, Hugh… Blimey, I can’t say I remember ever seeing you cry. Huey. You’re spooking me out.’_

_‘Not that silly name again,’ I choked between laughing and crying because he used to call me Huey when I was still a toddler, and I haven’t heard that name in over a decade. ‘I barely grew out of it.’_

_‘Well, you’ll always be my little Huey to me,’ he chuckled and kissed my forehead lightly. ‘Even if I have to climb on my toes to call you that, sweety.’_

_‘Ew,’ I commented, and he snorted in laughter. In all truth, I felt about a hundred pounds lighter. We held onto each other some more, just because it felt so good to be close to someone who loved me so unconditionally._

_‘But what if it’s someone truly… impossible? Someone even you might find hard to accept?’ I blurted out after a tiny bit of anxiety found its way back to my restless heart._

_‘It’s not Malfoy, is it?’ my dad pulled back and wiggled his eyebrows, putting on his most horrified face that made me hiccup a bout of laughter. Seriously, my dad and his obsession with the Malfoy chap… They’ve been driving each other mad ever since the haughty blond had the audacity to purchase the business premises next to the Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes. Their immature barking of colourful insults makes people buy ice-cream at the Fortescue and just sit down to enjoy the pureblood show, those two fossils are seriously entertaining! But as loud and inappropriate as they are… I have my own theory about that. My dad is a passionate bloke, and these days, no one fuels his passion more than one Draco Malfoy. I don’t think he even realises that. They really push each other’s buttons…_ all _of each other’s buttons._

_‘No, it’s not Draco Malfoy,’ I said, pretending to be exasperated. ‘He’s all yours,” I added cheekily and had a pleasure of seeing my poor ol’ Dad’s cheeks turn the colour of a ripe tomato._

_‘I have no idea what you’re on about,’ he protested with a little too much vigour. ‘You said someone impossible and he’s been… well, he’s a definition of that.”_

_‘Nah, I meant more like someone who is just… too good for me… someone who might be impossible to persuade that we… us,_ together… _would be a good idea,” I tried to explain without my voice trembling too much. I don’t think I’ve ever been so rattled in my life. This was too bloody important._

_‘Oh, you mean someone like… uhm, let’s say Harry?’ he mumbled and looked at me sideways sheepishly. I instantly flushed all colours of Weasley and I reckon the expression on my face had turned so flabbergasted that he felt compelled to add quickly: “Speaking hypothetically, of course…”_

_‘Speaking… hypothetically, yes,” I finally found my voice and I couldn’t help but wonder just how bloody transparent I was. I mean, if my dad, an epitome of obliviousness had figured it out..._

_‘Well, if it was Harry, you know, hypothetically,’ he mumbled, looking anywhere but me, ‘I’d tell you to take it slow. Like, as slow as you can. He can be… uhm,_ a man like that _can be incredibly stubborn in trying to always do the right thing… for everyone else but himself. So…’_

_By this point, I was blinking back a fresh load of tears because he was making it sound as impossible as I feared it would be. But he stopped right there and then, and pulled me back into his arms._

_‘Bloody hell, I’m screwing this up, ain’t I?’ he whispered hoarsely. ‘I should start with the good news. If it was Harry  – you know, hypothetically – I’d tell you that this man loves you like no other. He has loved from the day you were born with the love even he can’t explain. He probably has no idea how much. You just need to show him... and in the end, he’d never say no. No one worthy of your heart would ever say no to love like yours, Huey,’ my dad spoke gently, and I felt like bawling all over again._

_But then he cupped my face in his big palms and looked me in the eye:_

_‘If it’s… if it_ was _, you know,_ Harry _, you’d have it easy, love,’ he said firmly. ‘You would have already won. You just need to do a bit of work. Any person as special as our Harry would recognise your heart for the treasure it is. Don’t take anything less than his heart if that’s what you’re after. God knows he could use someone to take good care of that precious heart of his. You know, uhm, hypothetically.’_

_’Hypothetically, yes,’ I sighed, but my dad’s clumsy attempts at staying tactful brought a genuine smile to my face. Merlin, I love that man. Almost everyone takes him for granted, but my dad is worth is weight in gold and then some. ‘Thanks, Dad. So, slow... but full throttle, yeah?’_

_‘Uhm… I suppose?’ he scratched his head looking confused. ‘I swear it sounded more clever in my head.’_

_I hugged him and kissed his cheek soundly because I know he’s secretly a bit of a sucker for having someone show him just how wonderful he is, and then I Disapparated quickly before I changed my mind._

_And as soon as I lay eyes on my Harry I knew I did the right thing. With flour in his hair, that bloody hilarious egg on the floor and that gorgeous flame in his cheeks he’s totally worth fighting for._

_I might be playing risky right now, but that’s the only way I know how to play. The Slytherins don’t mind walking the edge of the knife if the stakes are high. We, for one, love the challenge, and Harry is about as challenging as they come._

_So, yeah, I heard you, Dad. I’m going as slow as my drumming heart would let me but I have no intention of holding back. And if that means that I get to flash a bit of skin and put a sparkle of fantasies into Harry’s stubborn head, who’s there to stop me?_

_Slow and full-throttle._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uh, sorry if this was disappointing - this is more or less Harry's story and Hugo was not even supposed to be in here, telling his part, but somehow it sneaked into the story, fuck if I know how, and now he demands to be heard. ;)  
> There might be a bit of involuntary hiatus after this chapter. I need to at least try and write another story for a fest because it has a deadline and because it has to be Ron/Draco and they're my favourite. See you in 2-3 weeks? I hope so.


	5. Ruined

I think this is number...  _ three _ ? Yup, I’m on my third pancake  – and somehow we’ve still got nothing to eat. I had to chuck the other two in a bin: I managed to scorch the first one until it looked like I was trying to destroy the evidence, and I accidentally put Marmite on the other rather than Nutella.  _ Marmite! _ Of all the vile, salty…  _ ugh  _ things in my cupboard! I’m going to murder Ron in his sleep. I only keep this atrocity of food around because he likes it, and the bastard thought it was funny to peel off the labels of all the jars containing brown paste. I swear he acts more like Fred every year  – working in that shop with George is totally rubbing off on him! If the evening keeps going in that direction, I’ll be out of eggs before long and I’ll have to  _ order  _ pancakes. Oh, the shame. Who the hell orders pancakes?! Well, I might have to. Because I just…  _ Can’t. Bloody. Focus.  _

Sounds coming from the bathroom are washing over the kitchen  – which is entirely too close for my sanity – and between listening to Hugo’s cheerful humming and the images… God, very inappropriate images of what’s probably going on behind the closed bathroom door, it’s been a bit of a struggle not to set myself on fire by mistake. It takes all my willpower not to indulge my overactive fantasy with flashes of naked Hugo… of the rivulets of water finding their way among the freckles sprayed across all that sun-kissed naked skin… foamy, fragile suds sliding down those impressive Quidditch-made muscles and getting lost in the fiery carpet of… bloody hell, here goes another damn pancake! I got that one stuck onto the ceiling. 

“Accio-fucking-pancake!” I groan exasperated, and a bout of booming laughter from behind nearly has me jumping to the ceiling to join the damn pancake. That bloody boy, he’ll be the death of me, seriously! No,  _ seriously _ . You see, I just turned around to scold him for giving me the fright of a lifetime, when all my words  – and thoughts – faded away to die a silent death in some forgotten corner of my mind. I’m staring – and very much trying not to stare, but still staring, completely transfixed –  at the gorgeous red-haired god that stepped out of my bathroom with nothing but a towel sloppily tied around his narrow hips. Oh.  _ Oh _ . It appears that my overactive imagination’s got nothing on the real Hugo. He’s a… This is…  _ JesusMerlinhelpme _ ...

“Sorry for startling you,” he says sweetly. “It’s just that I’ve never heard anyone use this good ol’ spell in such an innovative way.”

To add insult to injury, the unfortunate pancake picks that exact moment to peel off the ceiling and lands  – believe it or not – straight back in the pan, with a bit of paint still stuck to its upper side. Drops of overheated oil go flying in all directions, giving me a welcome excuse to curse copiously and shift his attention to something other than my incompetence and my inability to  _ bloody.stop.staring _ . 

I hastily mutter a healing spell, turn back to the stove, and stare at the bloody pan with enough dedication to start a new religion, yet with the mere corner of my eye I still somehow manage to catch the glittering droplets of water drying on the silken canvas of Hugo’s skin… My mouth suddenly feels parched, as if tasting just one little sparkling droplet could save my life.

“Merlin, Harry, are you all right?” he says, and the genuine concern in his voice kind of melts my heart  – but it also makes me panic because I just  _ know  _ him, and I know he’ll try to make it better, and if he comes any closer...

“Perfectly fine,” I somehow manage to blurt out through my dry throat. “It’s this new pan… it’s not quite cooperating properly. Need to break it in.”  _ Merlin’s balls, of all the imbecile excuses…  _

“Oh… I see,” he says silkenly, and I swear, that in moments like this, I can  _ hear  _ the Slytherin in his voice. “Well, I won’t bother you while you’re busy…  _ breaking in the pan _ , I suppose. I was just wondering if I could plunder the closet with my dad’s old clothes?” he asks innocently. “He used to live here with you while Mum went back to Hogwarts for the N.E.W.T.s, didn’t he? I thought I saw some ancient pieces hanging about…”

“Not so ancient,” I tell him stiffly, torn between relief and a shameful disappointment over the fact that I was about to lose sight of this tempting, godless semi-nakedness. “Where do you think your dad runs off to, when he fights with your mum? On a bad week, I see more of him than I did when we shared the place!” I babble emptily, desperate to conceal how very much I’m trying  _ not to catch  _ one last look. And just when I think I got it, strong, muscled arms close around me from behind, and I realise I must have been trying a little too hard: I never saw my own personal train-wreck coming.

Jesus, but it feels nice… I’m instantly immersed in the mind-melting warmth of Hugo’s embrace and my failed endeavours to ignore his presence die with a single heroic, sorry attempt to swallow a proper moan. God, Hugh…

Hugo’s embrace is all that, and then some. He doesn’t say anything for the longest time, his body warmth seeping under my very skin, and my fried brain slowly gives up on blathering a helpless lie that I’m just lonely, too lonely, and that these solid, tight arms around me offer the human contact I’m clearly starved of… I was always crap at lying to myself. My Hugh is far from just a random human contact. He  _ so _ much more… God, yes. How badly would I hurt myself if I had a taste of him? Just a stolen moment... skin on skin… perhaps... Merlin, my mind is a blissful mess. I can no longer think straight as if the rest of the sad salad that poses as my brain these days simply melts inside Hugo’s arms… along with my heart. I allowed myself a single, sweet moment of heady self-indulgence, and I got lost in it completely. He makes all my defences fail. How can he not? It is my Hugh, my favourite, and everything about him is just right.

The mere majestic presence of him, of the tall, gorgeous young man he has become…

These unforgiving arms wrapped around me protectively, caging me lovingly, telling me better than any words that my Hugh cares…

That blessed, undoing scent of him… just a hint of mint soap mixed with a warm, arousing musk, evaporating from the bare chest of a healthy young man behind me, slowly poisoning my senses…

And then there is the heartbeat. Hugo’s heartbeat, pulsing steadily against my back like a force to be reckoned with; an invader I cannot ignore. A little fast, perhaps, but strong, and solid, and not going anywhere. It’s the most enchanting sensation ever. It’s as if I’m slowly being lead into a trance.

And that’s just the physical part of it. I try so very hard not to think why Hugo makes my heart go wild in the first place.

The alluring lock of fiery hair tickles my cheek as he leans his chin on my shoulder, and at last, I’m totally immersed in that special, heavenly feeling of closeness and intimacy that only ever comes with Hugh. His presence makes my heart go haywire to the point of making my vision blur. Oh, it’s torture, but it’s the exquisite, sweetest kind of torture, and I  _ crave _ … Merlin, do I crave! My knees turn to jelly and I dare not move. I barely dare to breathe. I feel as if I’m standing at the edge of my world and I desperately want to topple into the unknown; down, all the way down into the darkness of Hugo’s embrace. 

“Does anyone ever think of you?” Hugo says softly, and it’s not just the warm breath caressing my ear that sends a shudder to the very core of my being. “Of the burden they put on you? You never say a word and you shoulder it so bravely, yet I can see it sometimes… it doesn’t let you breathe, does it?”

And that’s another thing about Hugo. He can always see me for what I am, for the way I am, and give me what I need. My Hugh has an uncanny ability to just look at me, as if he’s looking straight down to the bottom of my soul, and tell me the very thing I need to hear, comfort me with a single gesture when nothing and no one else will do. Even as a child, Hugo would find me after a particularly hard day at work, infallibly, as if he could feel the pressure weighing me down. He’d simply crawl into my lap silently and put his arms around my neck, instantly making it all better. But this Hugo is no longer a mere tiny child. He’s infinitely more overwhelming, and I… I can’t even speak. I can’t, for the love of God, find words that would help me stir back into the safe zone, and not let me blurt out the truth. But this is my Hugh. He doesn’t need me to say it.

“Even after all those years, you’re still everyone’s hero,” Hugo says quietly, not letting go, and the unspoken fire simmering under his words set my senses ablaze.

“But sometimes also heroes just need to be held. Sometimes even you just need to be held, Harry,” Hugo says softly, and my knees seem to want to give in. I can feel myself sag against the strong body behind me and there’s fuck all I can do about it. So I let myself have this. I close my eyes because I already lost this battle spectacularly, and my world seems to be spinning in the wake of my defeat. As soon as I allow myself to sink into Hugo’s embrace, the time itself seems to have come to a standstill.

I can’t tell how long I let myself rest like this, with Hugo’s arms wrapped around me, feeling warm and safe… and treasured. God, it feels good… Up until this very moment I haven’t even realised how badly I needed it. The feeling of bone-deep fatigue and that dreadful loneliness I’ve come so dangerously close to getting used to is seeping away like cold ocean water in the scorching sun, and I’m being put right again.

“Better?” Hugo murmurs quietly, and I just… don’t want to open my eyes; not yet.

“Yeah…” I say in a voice so hoarse it would make a dragon proud. “Much.”

You see, I can’t really lie to Hugo that I don’t need this. There’s no point in that. Hugh knows. He always knows the little truths about me that I can’t put into words to save my life. He’s Hermione’s son, all right - but sometimes I can’t help but wonder just how good Hugo’s Legilimency skills are. Though, in all truth… it doesn’t feel like my thoughts are being invaded by magic. Hugo knowing me… that simply feels natural. And  _ good _ . God, all too good. Like Hugo is always on my side and I don’t even need to ask. My Hugh is always there for me…  _ For no one but me _ .

Merlin, but those are some mad, dangerous thoughts! I can’t even… Just how  _ scrambled _ is my brain?! For God’s sake – we’re related…! Or are we? Even after the divorce? Oh, what does it matter?! I’m nothing short of an old fossil, a barely-functioning relic of the crippling past that was once murky and dangerous – and Hugo… Hugo is the child of a bright and shiny future.

_ ‘Sort yourself out, Potter.’ _

Yeah, that’s my head talking though it’s damn hard to hear it over the pounding of my heart in my ears. I can’t even bring myself to open my eyes. I can still feel strong Hugo’s presence behind my back, his chin leaning lightly on my shoulder, his arms locked around me… Bloody hell – why is this so hard?!

“Thank you,” I somehow manage awkwardly, when finally – god-fucking-finally! – find the super-human strength to straighten myself up. Hugo doesn’t need me… at least not that way. I’m just tired and indulging in a selfish fantasy. I might as well accept that and…

A feather-light kiss, another one, lands just next to my ear, and it has the same devastating effect on him as that bombshell at the station. It blows up all my good and righteous thoughts to smithereens. Merlin, I’m smitten… 

“You’re welcome,” Hugo murmurs softly, and slowly, carefully lets go of me. I know I should be grateful – he just did what I couldn’t bring myself to do –  but instead, it instantly makes me feel lost and disoriented as if my world is somehow out of balance without my Hugh. I swear to God I barely manage to swallow a pathetic:  _ “Don’t go.” _

“Just don’t burn all my pancakes while I’m looking for something to wear,” my beloved red-haired devil chuckles before he disappears through the door. It’s not after the door clicks that I get a chance to toss another scorched misery of a pancake into the garbage bin. Another one ruined. Just like me.


	6. Getting there...

_ Yeah, uhm, that “slow” part of my new motto? I think that bit still needs some work. But, bloody hell, I just can’t resist him. I can’t really help myself around him. He’s so bloody gorgeous and wonderful… strong and a sweet sort of fragile at the same time. And shy! God, is he ever so shy! It’s just too bloody adorable! Yeah, they don’t make them like my Harry anymore… so very precious.  _

_ And this goes well beyond mere lust, I’ll have you know! My Harry needs me. I could always tell, ever since I was a toddler  – I could almost see misery on him on certain days, yeah? – and I can still see it now. I can only guess why he’s like that but when I closed my arms around him I could tell how badly he needed it. The way he leaned into me and just let go or everything, if only for a moment… yeah, that’s the Harry I’m after. That’s my Harry, mine. If only I could stretch those moments into eternity. But he’s not ready yet, so as hard as it was  – I had to let him go.  _

_ I could feel him struggle against it, and I don’t want him to. I don’t need to see him conflicted, torn, tormented, miserable  – I can’t see him become any of that, especially because of me. I love him too much for that. He has to embrace it, or it won’t be right. I’ve still got a few aces up my sleeve, though. I didn’t wait so long and come so far to lose. I’ve got a plan, you see - a quickly hatched and a rather clumsy one - and if it works I just might lose everything I’ve worked so hard for. Everything but Harry, that is. Totally worth a try.  _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ouch... how am I so out of practice?! I've been writing another pairing and it turned out really long, so returning to this was hard and the result is painfully awkward. But it's a start (however rocky) after a fairly long absence, so hopefully, the next pair of chapters will be a bit more meaningful. Sorry if I've wasted your time! :P


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